


A Stacked Deck

by 111 (Insert)



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! GX
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Banter, Cliche, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-08-20 23:21:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20236060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insert/pseuds/111
Summary: Judai let out a whistle. "Hope you guys don't mind getting a little physical."Or:In which Johan Andersen, living on his own and trying to fit into a confusing world, finds himself sharing a hotel room with two other duelists: Manjoume Jun, a newcomer to the Pro League with something to prove at the high-stakes tournament; and Yuki Judai, a traveling spirit expert whose guesses usually turn out to be correct.Oh, and there’s only one bed.





	1. First Card

**Author's Note:**

> .................OKAY. i'm just throwing this out there.
> 
> \- Spoilers for all of Yu-Gi-Oh! GX, as this fic takes place roughly one and a half years after the main series. The Bonds Beyond Time movie will also come into play.
> 
> \- Just to clarify, this is OT3 (Judai/Johan/Manjoume), and the rating is too high right now, but it will fit the later parts. 
> 
> \- Apologies in advance if it's rough. Thank you for reading.

\---

"And...now we're officially off the plane," Johan said, absently running a thumb over his deck holster, but the spirit of Emerald Tortoise remained in his shell, shuddering as he floated along with the others. Quick steps took Johan down the boarding bridge, his carry-on over his shoulder, and the layout of the Domino airport came back to him meter by meter, the familiarity like a dial slowly being turned until,  _ oh, right _ , this place had illuminated walkways above the arrivals area. And the good cafe was past security, tucked into an alcove on the third-viewing deck. 

Well, probably. Directions had never been his strength, no matter how many signs a place like this put up.

"Ah, Johan… You shouldn't baby him. It's unfitting, considering his age," Amethyst Cat chimed in, and Cobalt Eagle dipped his head in approval, their forms translucent and blending with the harder edges around him, softening the too-stark colours of different diagrams and arrows. More murmurs followed, Ruby Carbuncle mewling as she rounded his free shoulder with a quick-swaying tail, her ears alert and forward when they joined the maze at border control. Guards shifted through the crowd person by person, question by question, and eventually, while Johan hummed through a song from that movie on the plane, a drama about star-crossed lovers, Emerald Tortoise poked his head out again and blinked against the fluorescent lights. 

"Well, well. Nice to see you too," Johan observed, throwing out a wink, and then he turned to face the front. He walked forward.

Passport. Papers. What is your reason for visiting Japan?

"A Duel Monsters tournament."

Which tournament?

"The Choice Stars Final, hosted by Industrial Illusions. I have my admission form right, err, here."

More questions, until finally-

Thank you, and enjoy your stay. 

"They're so nosey, aren't they?" Amethyst Cat growled out after he had put his papers away again, and Johan smiled a little, her paws in midair as she leapt over a partition, leaving a trail of purple sparks. 

"It's just their job. Don't take it seriously, okay?"

"Johan, you should do the…" Cobalt Eagle fluffed one wing before tapping a long flight feather against the crest of his head, the meaning clear. Digging through his bag again, Johan unwound his headphones, popped one into his right ear, and then tucked his phone into his back pocket. 

"Thanks for the save. Sure it's been awhile since we traveled together, but, hey, I really shouldn't forget the basics like that," Johan admitted with a shrug. He continued past the luggage carousels, the unused earbud swinging over his chest, and the Crystal Beasts had changed into a shimmer, a thin overlay over everything else.

"Johan," Amber Mammoth began, a low voice that, suddenly, he wanted to hum along to, picking up the dropped melody and carrying with him again, letting it change all the other sounds, "never forget that you're a master duelist and the guardian of us crystal beasts. You shouldn't have to take such measures if they inconvenience you."

"Ah, don't worry, okay? It's no big deal," Johan replied. Damn, it really  _ was  _ a catchy song, and he swept through the international arrivals section. There was a brief interlude where he made a wrong turn, followed by a second wrong turn. 

After picking the correct escalator, he tilted his head back until he saw the logo, peeking over a railing. Something with lavender would be good. And caffeine, naturally.

“Humans can be so judgemental,” Amethyst Cat muttered, the others purring and hooting in agreement, and this conversation had happened hundreds of times, maybe even thousands. The details were naturally different, the conclusions changing little by little with time, and Johan, smiling to himself, knew that his stubborn little family loved him, their souls joined in a knot with his own. Their iridescent, braided edges fit together perfectly.

“Well, with the ear bud, I can pretend that we’re all in a conference call,” Johan said, and immediately Sapphire Pegasus, the most practical member of the group, snorted, an angelic wing pressed over the intersecting railings, platforms, and walkways that banded the next section of the airport, the lines clean and precise. And, of course, his beasts were always there, darting in and out of thin, graceless shadows, and when Johan reached the right level and looked up, he stopped for a moment, unable to keep the wide grin from spreading across his face.

Today had been a day of strangers and crowds -- his beasts the veil that kept them at a distance, that blurred the overwhelming features and competing words -- but the person wrapped in a dark coat and scowling at a take-away cup, thin fingers drumming on the table’s surface, was not a stranger at all. Actually, in a weird twist of circumstance, Manjoume Jun -- known as Manjoume Thunder in the Pro League, a challenger who had debuted less than a year ago -- was usually at the top of Johan’s inbox, their discussions about new releases and tournament results filling the gaps between his work days, between the cycles of tasks that he found himself daydreaming through more and more. An idle thought about the spirits thrumming in his deck, and then his focus would be gone, scattered to the wind like flower petals, like dandelion seeds.

As he weaved between the tables, Johan had expected for Manjoume to look up, but his stare remained locked on that cup, and  _ then  _ Johan recognized why. With stubby fingers, Ojama Yellow was clinging to the edge of the brim and peering at the dark liquid, his eyestalks lowered in concentration, and the other brothers -- Ojama Green and Ojama Black -- were decked out in snorkels, swimming goggles, and life preservers, phased half-way through the drink and bobbing slightly, imitating waves. Their high-pitched chatter was about how their stingy boss, “stingy” emphasized by the quirk of Manjoume’s thin eyebrows, wouldn’t give them a “real vacation,” and Ojama Yellow was whimpering something like, “G-Guys, he really will take us out of the deck again! C-Come on!”

“Good! I’m sick of getting punched by all those high-level monsters!” Ojama Black declared, and Johan tried not to laugh, Manjoume’s teeth showing as he snarled, the start of a rant that would probably shake the table and end with all the Ojamas shoved back into their cards.

“I mean, even us ace monsters need some R&R, you know?” Ojama Green drawled out, and then it happened, a quick snap of Manjoume’s hand turning both of them into smoke, and Ojama Yellow, squeaking, exploded with a shower of confetti. It phased through the drink, which Manjoume, lip curled in disgust, shoved away from himself. 

“Acting like they can boss  _ me  _ around? What trash,” Manjoume mumbled under his breath. A single black earbud swung as he leaned back, one long leg crossed over the other. The jacket, a new design, had an asymmetrical collar, and textured panels of dark grey broke up the fall of the matte black fabric, the pieces sweeping the floor set in jagged tears, an echo of his Thunder Insignia. Thin belts were closed around the cuffs. His peaked lapels were perfectly set, a contrast with his wild hair that fell heavily to one side, obscuring his expression when he turned away slightly, his chin on the pale ridge of his knuckles.

It was easy to think of him as a collection of sharp angles, like a thorned plant wrapped in on itself, unkind to anyone foolish enough to approach, but Manjoume wasn’t  _ really  _ that way, not when he exploded Johan’s inbox with candid pictures from one of his fanmeetings, that arrogance slipping character by character as he went over the details. Or when, after Johan had texted something about his well-meaning-but-sometimes-too-direct boss during a lunch break, just trying to get the words out of his head, Manjoume had then gone on a thirty-message rant about how Johan “shouldn’t put up with that shit” and had to “put such a stupid person in their place.” 

And that prickly image fell apart completely when Ruby Carbuncle jumped from Johan’s shoulder, landed on the table, and made the brooding prince of the newcomer’s bracket jump at least thirty centimeters, his wide grey eyes darting  _ everywhere  _ before they found Johan. 

“Johan Andersen. You are late.”

“Sorry about that,” he said, and after a beat passed, he took the seat across from Manjoume, shoving his travel bag under the circular table. “I thought I texted you about the delay.”

“You did,” Manjoume replied curtly, eyeing Ruby Carbuncle as she stepped around the napkin holder, her tail swishing. “That doesn’t mean you aren’t still  _ late _ .”

“Ah, your standards are too high…”

“Whatever. I take it we have to wait for that slacker.” Before Johan could answer, a ‘yes,’ Manjoume scoffed and then added, “This is such a mess already… I’m having flashbacks to Slifer Red. The constant talking. The slamming doors.”

“Hey, it won’t be like that,” Johan stated, and he laughed when Manjoume slumped against the table, just as over-dramatic in person. “I mean, at least Judai doesn’t talk in his sleep, so…”

“I-I don’t do that!”

“Mmm… I have seven corroborators to back me up. Right, Ruby?”

“Eep!” Ruby chirped, leaping for his shoulder again, and Manjoume quickly barked out a retort, that loose earbud flying in an arch as he shot to his feet, the chair sliding out.

“The Crystal Beasts are biased, especially that overgrown housecat you call a spirit partner! So,  _ really _ , you have no proof at all!”

Next was a squeaking noise, Ojama Yellow slowly emerging from Manjoume’s collar. “B-But, Boss, you, uh, do talk in your sleep. Like, it’s usually all about how you- Ah!”

More confetti fluttered down, and Manjoume, back in his seat, flipped his hair back. “Just… Urgh, fine. But if Judai brings that pathetic flea-bag known as ‘Pharaoh’ with him, they’re both sleeping outside. No excuses. I’ll throw them out myself if I have to, which I probably  _ will  _ because you’ll be no help,  _ Johan _ .”

Johan shook his head, a hand passing over Ruby. A faint energy sparked against his palm, a glimmer of red pulsing against his skin, and then he stood up, his expression apologetic. “Can you watch my stuff? Judai’s flight should be another hour, so I think I need some caffeine. Time zones, you know.”

“Yeah, I  _ do  _ know,” Manjoume replied, and so Johan took off again, picking through the two currencies in his wallet. If he remembered the conversion rate correctly, then, yeah, this would one expensive cup of lavender Earl Grey, but he still wanted it, smiling at the cashier as he placed his order, fumbling on the ‘size’ option. Large. Sure, why not?

Designed by Kaiba Corp engineers, the new Domino International Airport had skylights curved like reptilian scales, and they followed the smooth flow of the massive building, the stark, clinical white of its supports broken up by those patches of a blue sky, darkening where it met the skyline. And all of this -- the invitation-only tournament hosted by Industrial Illusions in the capital of Duel Monsters, the blocks of interviews already scheduled for him as one of the 48 chosen duelists, the possibility of  _ more  _ interviews if he placed well -- was strange, the rush of people and attention a far cry from his three-room house tucked away in a small, puzzle-like neighbourhood with overgrown gardens and rambling wooden fences, the empty spaces threaded with bean vines and yellowed stalks of wild flowers and grasses. His own herb garden could be called a success, green leaves spilling out of the window box and leaving their strong scents on his hands, on the edges of his sleeves. And Johan always rode his bike to work, a daycare center that doubled as an after-school activity space for older kids, himself in charge of supervising the junior Duel Monsters club. Starry-eyed kids would go quiet at the mention of his European Champion title, dropped so easily by his co-workers and never failing to make him shrink a little. Those same co-workers would shake their heads whenever he ‘spaced out,’ the Crystal Beasts not even a blur to them, the chime-like voices only silence, and-

“Your order, Mr. Andersen!”

Startled, he looked up, and the cashier nodded her head, a silky-dark ponytail bobbing with the motion. He had ordered tea. 

Right.

“Thanks, and have a good day,” he said brightly, and the first sip was too hot, Ruby squeaking as he walked back to the table. “Well, but sometimes you have to try it anyways,” he answered, and she chided him with another squeak, her jeweled eyes bearing a familiar sheen, a playful glint. “Okay, okay. I’ll listen to you next time. I promise.”

“You can have mine too, if you want it,” Manjoume said when Johan had settled, in the wire-framed chair with his head tilted back, not too far. He could still see how Manjoume’s expression was set, those grey eyes focused, in contrast with how the Ojama duelist slouched in the folds of his long, trailing coat. 

“What’s the problem? You scared of a few Ojama germs?”

“Ha. Ha.” After the acidic laugh, Manjoume picked up the still-steaming cup and moved it next to Johan’s own, ‘THUNDER’ scrawled on the side in black marker. “She asked me how many shots of caramel syrup I wanted, and maybe I’m mistaken, but I’m  _ pretty  _ sure she put in  _ fourteen  _ rather than four. The result is absolutely disgusting. I should really get a refund.”

“...Which...is why I should try it?”

“Yes.”

“Guess adventure is calling my name,” Johan said, and, after a skeptical look at the warm brown liquid inside, he raised the cup to his lips, angled it slightly, and then put it down again. Nope. Not happening. “Actually, I’m good. Thanks for the offer though.”

“Coward.”

“Hey, I had a  _ little- _ ”

“Yeah, I can tell by that face you’re making,” was what Manjoume cut in with, and Johan rolled his eyes, going to test his own tea for a second time. The lavender notes were followed by citrus, the rest a mess for now, that  _ burst  _ of ultra-sweet, ultra-sticky caramel still thick on his tongue, and when he put the cup down, he asked about Manjoume’s new apartment, which, judging by how Manjoume’s jaw tensed, would lead to a rant. Probably a long one. 

When he drummed his fingers on the table, they fell into the beats of that song, the one that had swelled as the romantic leads had locked arms and stared at each other. The lyrics cycled through his head, and, startled, he laughed when Manjoume switched to a tirade against the Destiny Heroes, probably because Edo Phoenix was confirmed as another guest at the Choice Stars Final. And,  _ okay _ , maybe Plasma’s effect was a little  _ overpowered _ , but Manjoume was the one with the OTK deck, so-

The gaps between their usual conversations, colourful from all the emojis Manjoume threw at him, were gone, and maybe it was too easy to sink into this fast-paced dynamic, accompanied by the low resonance of the Crystal Beasts, a slight, pulsing pressure from inside his chest. Manjoume himself was a band of electricity, energy behind all of his gestures and his snapped-off words. The insults all had double-meanings that Johan had gotten better at picking out and examining, like glass cat’s eye marbles that the kids from work would accidentally mix in with the plain ones, the precious slivers of colour making all the difference. 

And the company was nice. It ground down the little spikes and prickles from his own exhaustion, coupled with the jabs from those nervous thoughts that had kept him awake for the entire flight, all of the movies blurs except for that one, except for that scene. A couple against a starlit sky, their movements so controlled, so subtle as they had orbited each other and, slowly, gradually, fallen closer and closer.

Of course it had been a scene like that, and Johan tapped through the chorus again, smiling at Manjoume’s impression of an overbearing interviewer. The Ojamas had come back, clapping with every syllable, tears of laughter in their eyes. Ruby had found her favorite place, the junction between Johan’s neck and shoulder, and her purrs added another layer, soft and rhythmic. Sometimes they matched the fall of his fingers, restless even now.

From here, he could see the arrival times flicker and change, white characters on black. Judai’s flight needed forty more minutes, plus time for security. He estimated fifty-five.

Fifty-five minutes until he saw Judai again, and he still hadn't been able to sort out the words he had been thinking about for weeks, but he could never get the order of them right -- lying in bed and staring at the slatted ceiling, counting the parallel lines until his heart stopped pounding. 

\---

Since graduating, he and Manjoume had met up once, splitting the cost of a two-bed hotel room for the GGL Cup, an annual event held in London. The circumstances had been quite simple -- Johan, scrolling through his social media feed while waiting for the water to boil, had read Manjoume's post about qualifying for the event as a professional, which, naturally, had led to him leaving a comment. It had been part congratulations and part information, as he had planned on going in through the open bracket, aiming for a wild-card spot in the quarter finals, and, hey, wouldn't it be fun if they got to duel each other? Two champions of North Academy on the world stage? Crystal Beasts versus Ojamas?

And immediately after Johan had left the comment, two things happened. First, the water had boiled, and, second, he had an incoming call from Manjoume Jun. 

For Manjoume to outright admit that he wanted to split a room and save money was, as that conversation had proved,  _ basically  _ impossible, and Johan, cutting himself a slice of lemon, had eventually decided to say the words himself. Hey, if we're both going, why don't we share a room? The flights are going to be expensive as is, so why not? 

At Duel Academia, Manjoume had presented himself as a bit of a loner, minus the time he spent chasing after Tenjouin Asuka or challenging Yuki Judai to duels. Or yelling at Yuki Judai. Or complaining about Yuki Judai to other people. And so, after checking in, Johan had decided to wait in the lobby for his temporary roommate, keen on making a good impression, and when Manjoume Jun had burst inside, it had been with the grace and composure of a storm at its peak -- his glare twisting his eyes into narrow slits, a spiraling chaos behind the jerky way he strode over to Johan and then stood in place, twitching a little. 

As he had quickly found out,  _ this  _ was what Manjoume looked like after two days of no sleep and constant traveling, and, sympathetic, Johan had shoved him into the shower once their bags were in the room.

_ “You’ll sleep better if you relax first, right?” _

_ “Y-You can’t expect me to stay awake for one  _ second  _ longer than necessary…” _

_ “Trust me, okay?” _

And, as Johan had _also _quickly found out, the same techniques he used to wrangle cranky toddlers and third-graders had worked surprisingly well on a jet-lagged and caffeine-deprived Manjoume Thunder, whose scowl had turned into more of a pout, which was, well, really cute. Although, following his many adventures tracking down Duel Spirit hunters and card thieves, Johan had a well-developed sense of preservation, and, in that moment, as Manjoume had whined about time zones while leaning dramatically against the bathroom sink, Johan had known better than to say that simple word. 

Cute.

Cute like Ruby when she woke up from a nap and blinked up at him. Or the kids at work when they tired themselves out, yawning with big, round mouths.

Although there had been a minor conflict when Manjoume had flung the bathroom door open again, his wet hair tangled and dripping over his shoulders. The conflict had been entirely Johan’s fault, as he had taken one look at Manjoume’s sleeping outfit -- a pair of cherry-red boxer shorts with white dashes like the Ojamas’ briefs  _ plus  _ a white t-shirt with a picture of his own face on it -- and then burst out laughing. Manjoume’s response had been to try and make Johan eat his own pillow, those skinny fingers and wrists  _ awfully  _ strong for someone who had been close to passing out five minutes ago. 

_ “S-Sorry, s-sorry! I’ll try to… I-I’ll try to stop i-it,”  _ Johan had rasped out, clutching at his aching ribs. Shirt-Manjoume had given him a cool smirk. Actual-Manjoume had hurled the pillow at his face, making a direct hit, and Johan had just laughed harder.

_ “Eat pillow, Crystal Boy,”  _ Manjoume had spat at him, and before Johan could prop himself up on his elbows, the comforter below a twisted mess, Manjoume had gone very still and then face-planted onto his own bed, one-hundred-percent out for the rest of the night. Eventually, the Ojamas had joined in, forming a little crown of slumbering figures in sleeping caps and matching dot-printed pajamas. 

The only word for it was ‘cute,’ Johan had decided, smiling to himself. 

That tournament, the GGL Cup, had been a thrill, captivating like a perfect symmetry, like the glint of sunlight on the raw edge of a rich jewel, bringing out the depth of that colour and the universe of detail contained by its small form. Sure, the attention had made him fidget -- the soothing purrs of the Crystal Beasts muffling the noises when they became too loud, or the voices became too  _ many  _ to sort through in the chaos of the crowded stadium -- but the experience had been incredible, because nothing else could compare to the boom following a series of successful attacks, the resonance of the empowered Crystal Beasts growing strong enough to be felt under his skin -- a dizzying,  _ wonderful  _ echo of their voices that made him feel so alive, so complete. And Johan had stormed through the open bracket, drawn in to each and every challenge, and the one person to stop him in his tracks had worn a mask. It had been a close duel, his life points hitting zero after an intense back-and-forth that had been like a flurry of swords, the arching rainbow light of his dragon finally, eventually parting, signalling the end. The same duelist, claiming the wildcard spot, had later knocked out Manjoume: every play close, a victory obtained on a knife's edge. 

In the finals, that person had revealed themselves to be Jonouchi Katsuya and then won the entire tournament, and over an after-tournament dinner of cheap takeout and even cheaper drinks, Johan had gotten into silly, easy arguments with Manjoume, both of them sitting cross-legged on their respective beds. The spirits had been thick in the air, an ever-shifting river of colour that Johan let his eyes follow, aware that Manjoume sometimes did the same thing. It had been nice. 

It was a good memory now, like a leaf pressed in-between the pages of a scrapbook. Johan, as usual, had saved his tournament badge, a laminated rectangular with his name in bold letters, and then stored it in a box that fit under his bed, almost overflowing from the many scraps of paper. Tournament ribbons had a different place. 

Photographs went on the far wall, and, at home, he had one with Manjoume outside the London venue, Johan trying to match his scowl at the camera and failing completely.

The photograph next to it was of himself and Judai, both throwing up victory signs with a stark, blue waterfall behind them, crashing over the sheer cliff they had climbed down moments before. Judai's shaggy hair had been pushed back, his eyes sparking. The surrounding photographs Johan also knew well -- snapshots of himself with his co-workers, old polaroids from North Academy that had signatures scrawled over the white space. The official press photo of himself meeting Pegasus for the first time was the only one with a frame, because, naturally, the photo had come with it, and Manjoume, after watching Johan carefully wrap up the tournament badge and stow it away in his luggage, had been right to call him 'sentimental.' 

But the formation of that collage still had wide gaps, and when Johan had reached into his mailslot and pulled out the invitation to the Choice Stars Final, the letters written in delicate black ink on a thick white paper and followed by Pegasus's own looping signature, he had accepted immediately, absolutely. A curiosity had already pulled him in, a glimmer-like fascination had entranced him from the sight of the envelope alone, closed with a formal red seal, and the Crystal Beasts had run in their dizzying circles, chiming and ringing out with every new step. The outside cold had faded into nothing, and the canopy of stars overhead had rolled and rolled, awash with brighter colours, with new lights.

And at that moment, standing on the thin walkway leading up to his front door, a vine curving around the wooden frame, Johan had thought about telling Judai how he felt at the tournament, because of course Judai would be there, naturally pulled in by the same gravity that had already affected him.

Two stars, drifting closer and closer. 

\---

“The designs for the Crystal Beasts don’t make any sense.”

At first, Johan just blinked at Manjoume, and then he had to say it. “I...don’t follow.”

When Manjoume’s elbows hit the table, his steel-like gaze set on Johan, it became clear,  _ extremely  _ clear, that Johan was about to understand the problem, or else Manjoume would just keep throwing new information at him until he  _ did  _ understand it. In Johan’s experience, duelists from the Pro League all had the same character trait -- they could all be slightly terrifying in person.

Then again, “slightly terrifying” could be good sometimes, and Johan found himself laughing against the rim of his take-away cup.

“So, Cobalt Eagle is just a regular eagle,” Manjoume began, ignoring the sudden ‘squawk’ from the bird in question, “and Emerald Tortoise is just a turtle or whatever,  _ but _ then you have a pink cat, a tiger with a knife on its head,  _ another  _ cat with a weird tail, and... For one thing, you have too many cats. It’s weird. The theming is completely wrong,” Manjoume concluded, and if his goal had been to wake up all seven of the Crystal Beasts, then he had sure accomplished it, Ruby Carbuncle batting at his forearms with her tiny paws while the others roared in support. “You can’t have a mammoth, an  _ actual  _ creature that went extinct, in the same group as a pegasus. Like, come on, Johan. Presentation matters to a duelist.”

“Can I crush him?” Amber Mammoth asked, and Johan rolled his eyes. 

“Don’t crush him. He still has to transfer me the money for our hotel room,” he replied swiftly, that smile impossible to keep away. True to his image, Manjoume just scoffed, his chin tilted up. “See, it sounds to me like you’re a little confused,” Johan added in a slow drawl. “Maybe you should follow  _ me  _ for awhile. I’ll try to sort you out.”

“Yeah,  _ sure _ . Try it.”

Most of Johan’s usual conversation partners were less than half his age and sometimes covered in paint, glitter, stickers, or a combination of all three, and so he paused for a second, sipping his still-warm tea and drumming his fingers on the sleeve. The steady focus in Manjoume’s eyes, set in a haughty glare, meant that any mistakes would be caught and torn apart, and when Johan put the cup down again, he decided to start simply. 

“Well, you’re acting like the Crystal Beasts were designed by an artist, in which case everything you’re saying would make perfect sense, but,” he quickly added, a few confused looks being cast his way, Ruby warbling out a question, “that’s not true at all. By that logic, your Ojamas’ spirits were created the moment a concept artist decided to draw them and not a moment sooner, which doesn’t seem right, does it?”

Manjoume’s typical flare wouldn’t allow him to just  _ respond _ . He had to make a show of it, slamming his knee against the table, cursing loudly, and then swiping at the three Ojamas when they tried to appear, the flakes of confetti materializing and then scattering. 

“Wait, Crystal Boy. Maybe you’re forgetting that I know the origin of the Crystal Beasts since, you know, my family tried to  _ buy  _ them. Pegasus himself did the portraits because the story of that Roman ship sinking inspired him, so, yeah, I’m pretty sure he’s responsible for their inconsistent designs.”

“‘Inconsistent’...”

“Johan, why are you friends with him again?”

“Meow!”

“I’ll get him, don’t worry,” Johan began, and soon their figures were moving around him again, a stream of vibrant colour. Like a sunrise that moved alongside him, always. “Sure, Pegasus was inspired by that story, but the spirits of the gems themselves existed before he started working on their portraits. It’s like how Yubel was drawn with a perfect likeness even though the artist who worked on their card didn’t know anything about their past life. The connection between the spirit world and our cards is a complicated thing, and it seems like the spirits decide when they want their cards to be made, not the other way around.”

“Urgh. You’re just like Judai sometimes,” Manjoume muttered harshly, and he sank deeper into his coat, like a bat wrapped in its angular wings. Or a cat sulking behind a curtain. 

“Rainbow Dragon’s another good example. Sure, the tablet existed before the card, but I could feel their spirit before Pegasus finished it. It’s like-”

“Look,” Manjoume snapped, “my point is that your cards are a visual nightmare. It had to be said before the tournament started, which means that you can’t complain to me when viewers and sponsors aren’t  _ thrilled  _ by your little zoo.”

“Hmmm… Not to sound like a reality show villain, but I’m not actually here to make friends. So, it doesn’t really matter what anyone else thinks,” Johan said with a shrug, and a long, feathered wing obscured Manjoume for a moment, and he blinked it away like a bit of falling snow, letting the Crystal Beasts fade at the edges. Ah, better. 

“That earbud says you’re a hypocrite.”

Johan popped it out, a chuckle next. “Okay, you got me there. The victory goes to Thunder.”

“There’s also something wrong about  _ you  _ not trying to make new friends. Isn’t playing nice what heroes like you and Judai do best?”

“Maybe I have a darker side too,” was what Johan countered with, and Manjoume’s eyebrows shot up. “Or...maybe I don’t. Point is, it’s been awhile since I’ve traveled to a tournament like this. Sure, I love meeting people and all, but I also just want some competition, you know? Guess I phrased that badly, ha ha… ”

A silence between them, different than the breaks between their text messages. Here, he could watch every flicker of thought cross Manjoume’s face, drawing his eyebrows lower. Around them were the scraps of other conversations, the cafe’s tables filling up seat by seat. Bright blocks of luggage added new details to the scene. Tired travelers embraced each other, some tangling their hands. Others kissed, and the flow of people continued, unceasing over the walkways below. 

At home, it would be the middle of the day, the afternoon light spilling through the faulty blinds and leaving blocks of yellow-white on the wooden floor. Within those walls, his family roamed. They flowed between the few rooms and phasing through the furniture, through the stacks of half-read books and cards that still need to be sorted. Their spirits and souls were so,  _ so  _ precious and brimming with life, and they trusted him in return, absolutely. In that familiar place of soft tones and green leaves, swaying in the window box from the slight breeze that ran down the narrow street, Johan had packed his travel bag and fished out his spare key for the neighbour, just until he returned. And, to an outsider, it might’ve seemed like a contradiction, the simple act of him leaving this warm, quiet place for the uncertainty of a tournament in a busy, overflowing city. But-

But some pulls were undeniable. From the first touch of his skin to that envelope, he had known that this course was inevitable. And maybe, below the light-filled steps of his normal life, he did want a fight. A clash. 

He wanted something open, raw, and honest, and in a moment like that, maybe he would finally figure out how to tell Judai his feelings. Of course he loved Judai. It wasn’t that. It was the ‘something else’ he wanted to cover up, like a ripple on the perfect, still surface of a smooth lake. 

“So, that’s why you’re here. The competition.”

“Yeah. Basically.”

“Basically?”

“Well, I… Oh, it’s Judai!”

“...Finally,” Manjoume mumbled, but Johan was already off, on a bee-line towards the escalator that Yuki Judai was stepping off of, a faded messenger bag over one shoulder and a smile spread over his face like a beacon. The sight of it warmed his chest, like a summer’s heat that was just for him, that made it natural to think of blue skies and easy laughter and the languid, simple way they had always fit together.

And they met in a hug, Judai’s arms going high, settling around his neck and pulling him in, while Johan’s hands clasped behind his back, stumbling over the strap of the messenger bag and then finding the space between his shoulder blades, that familiar dip that led up to the nape of his neck. When Johan breathed in, everything was there -- the trace of Judai’s cheap travel conditioner, the faint burnt, ash-like sting of Yubel’s scales that had settled into Judai’s own skin, and the rasp of Judai’s next breath by his ear, the sound trailing into a low chuckle. And he could have held Judai like that for hours, his face buried in the ripples of that worn-down red jacket, the rolls of their chests falling in a slow rhythm, and he felt it when Judai sank deeper in the contact, letting their Johan join with him even more.

It had been awhile, and Johan tightened his hold a little, breathing in Judai’s scent again, as if that would let it remain on his own clothes, would tangle it with his own skin. Last time, they had woken up together in his bedroom, Judai wrapped in his pale sheets and blinking at the morning sun, the shapes of his back  _ beautiful  _ when he had stretched his arms above his head. The lean muscles of his arms, taut for a moment, had dragged in their own thin, angled shadows, and, unthinking, completely overwhelmed and  _ lost _ , Johan had brought him down again, Judai laughing into their kiss and messing up Johan’s hair for revenge. 

But, eventually, Johan moved back, and Judai mirrored him, the colours mixed in his eyes -- the green meshed with orange and gold, a nebula that flickered and then changed, fading while Johan watched. He had more of a tan than usual, and his haircut was scruffy, even by Judai’s own standards. Between them, Judai was shorter by at least five centimeters, and he still felt the same as before, vibrant in a way that no one else could be, every angle of him captivating, almost delicate. More than once, Judai had teased him for being too gentle, but, like this, their foreheads still touching, it was hard not to be, as if he really was made of glass, of starlight that had been captured in place and might scatter, might fade.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Judai replied, batting Johan’s arm and then putting a hand on his hip, the thumb slipped under his belt. Overheard, Winged Kuriboh spun through the rigid supports and then floated down, hooting for the Crystal Beasts. Ruby, predictably, had decided on her next target for hide and seek, and soon their partners were  _ off _ , lost in the crowd of the airport. “So, I’m trying not to show it, but I’m really,  _ really  _ into this tournament already. How obvious is it? Do you think Thunder will notice?”

“Uh... Definitely,” was what Johan settled on, and he laughed along with Judai, chiming and bright. “What, are you trying out a new image? Is this the new cool-and-composed Yuki Judai?”

“Hmmm… Probably not,” Judai admitted with an easy shrug. “I’d rather be excited-and-ready-for-a-duel Yuki Judai, but, I mean, I’m guessing you already knew that, right?”

Rolling his eyes, Johan led them to the table, and after a few steps, Judai had slung an arm over his shoulders, the other in a wide, arching wave to the scowling rival character. Some confetti popped out when the Ojamas did, but Manjoume was quick to slam them away again, his flat palm hitting the table and squashing them. 

“Well, well. If it isn’t the slacker, here at last,” Manjoume began with a well-practiced sneer, and then he was on his feet, a sweep of dark fabric trailing his movements, that high collar falling out of place. "This whole ordeal is already such a mistake. I can't believe I agreed to share a room with  _ you  _ two, as if Johan on his own isn't enough of a headache already."

At Judai's puzzled look, Johan felt the need to clarify. "Apparently I sing in the shower and it's, according to my critic here, 'unbearable.'"

"See, all this proves is that Thunder here has no taste in music," Judai said, and as Manjoume stormed past them, he flipped Judai off, which started a not-argument that lasted through two underground transfers and the ten-minute walk to the hotel. And Johan had joined in, letting Judai hang off him and poking at the Ojamas, a little pile of fugitives tucked into Manjoume's collar, bobbing with his steps and giving wide-eyes stares at their urban surroundings. A maze of skyscrapers. Signs from takeaway shops spilled over the sidewalk. Old flyers were disintegrating below, their images and text warped from a previous rain. Advertisements in stark, neon colours flared in shop windows, and they walked past it all, Johan sometimes pausing to crane his head back and take in the city more, its vibrations around them. A great mechanical hum.

“-and, oh! That’s it,” Judai announced, snapping Johan out of his daze.

“Of  _ course  _ that’s it,” Manjoume shot back, directing his suitcase with one hand and gesturing wildly with the other. “What tipped you off? The giant sign? The fact that, oh, it’s clearly a  _ hotel _ ? Or- Gah!”

“Ah, Thunder, can’t you take it a  _ little  _ easy on your favorite rival?” Judai said, and Manjoume tried to shake off his arm, Johan under the other and trying not to grin  _ too  _ much. Still, that death glare hit him anyways, and when they stumbled into the packed lobby, Judai was laughing the loudest.

\---

After receiving the invitation to the Choice Stars Final, Johan had hesitated about one thing -- probably taking a full hour to make it from his front step to his living room, worrying the corners of the paper with his thumbs. Naturally, he would have to tell his boss, the tournament’s strange format requiring a commitment that ranged from four days to several  _ weeks _ , and maybe he would have to apply for his position again, a risk that he had already accepted. There was no other option for him, enraptured by the possibilities, light-headed and giddy while the spirits surged around him, a dance of brilliant colours, of bell-like voices. An intricate chain that tied him down already. Or, more accurately, a string of fate, and he would follow its tug, always.

But who else should he tell? Or, really, who did he  _ want  _ to tell? Judai would know, his own invitation a guarantee considering that Pegasus was involved, but-

But Manjoume was the person at the top of his inbox, day after day, sending those long-form rants about banned cards and mis-managed tournaments and meetings with his agency and, well,  _ everything _ . And those messages reflected the simple truth that his classmate was trying hard,  _ too  _ hard sometimes, to make a name for himself, clawing and struggling against hundreds and thousands with the same fragile dream. And so Johan hesitated, not just for another hour, but until his next day at work when -- drumming his fingers against his arm, watching as scraps of construction paper were pressed together and excited hands directed pencil crayons in wide, whirling shapes -- his phone had gone off. An image, from Manjoume Thunder. Minus the different name, their invitations were identical.

The message underneath had stunned him for a moment, and then, beaming, he had read it again, taking in the compliment that was hidden in plain sight. Curious, Ruby had cooed against his palm, and he had tilted the screen to show her, her ears shooting up with a soft ‘meep’.

‘ _ okay crystal boy. now show me yours.’ _

And immediately after work, Johan had shoved his coat on, biked home in half his usual time, and then made the call, because there were details to sort out, naturally. Accepting the invitation came with a cash payment that would easily cover his travel costs, but Johan, like the rambling duelist on the other end of the call, wanted to save some of it, if possible, and that meant splitting a discount hotel, a prospect that had him, quote, ‘ _ humming like an idiot _ .’

_ “Sure, but what about that slacker?” _

_ “What, Judai?” _

_ “Uh, yeah. Who else?” _

Ideally, Johan would have considered it for longer than ten seconds, but when the travel page had finally loaded, he had discovered two things. One, almost every room in Domino City had been booked for a tech convention (thanks, Kaiba Corp), and, two, the random discount two-bed room he had clicked on seemed to be the very last one, a searing-red banner reminding him that, quote,  _ ‘Get it before it’s gone! Five minutes of inactivity, and this red-hot deal will be removed from your cart!’ _ .

And so Johan had quickly found himself with a somewhat-refundable two-bed room at a hotel with ‘average’ reviewer ratings and suspiciously few photos online, and Manjoume, for background noise, had provided the meltdown on the other end of the call.

_ “Just to be clear, if Judai’s showing up, then  _ he  _ gets the floor.” _

_ “Ah, don’t worry about it. Maybe I can upgrade this to a suite or, like, one of those group rooms.” _

_ “Not likely.” _

_ “Well, either way, it’ll all work out. I’m more worried about getting in the top sixteen of a tournament like this.” _

_ “Oh no. You’re up against actual pros for once. You might struggle, Mr. I-Only-Duel-In-Open-Brackets,”  _ Manjoume had said in a too-high whine, and Johan had almost dropped his tea cup, trying to balance it, his laptop, his phone, and Ruby, a sleeping little pile of blue fur and red jewels against his chest.  _ “I’ve figured out over half the roster already. You want a preview to calm down your amataur-level fears? I’ll give you my one-hundred-percent Thunder guarantee that it’s accurate.” _

_ “I’m good, but thanks for the offer,”  _ Johan had replied, and eventually the phone was at a decent angle again, Manjoume scowling at him from the backseat of a car, his eyeliner a smudged mess that had probably taken him twenty minutes. Because that’s just how Thunder was.  _ “The other duelists there should be a surprise, just to make things more interesting.” _

_ “So that’s your real goal. To be entertained.” _

_ “...Sort of.” _

_ “What kind of weak answer is  _ that _ ?” _

_ “It’s an honest one,”  _ Johan had replied, grinning despite himself, and Manjoume had given him a knowing look, shuttered by the shadows of the towers around him, structures of dull grey outside the window. And those sudden turns in their conversations had continued up until Johan had boarded his flight, as if Manjoume was picking away at a loose thread, trying to reveal something underneath all the bulky fabric. 

And maybe he had gotten pretty close.

\---

“Hey, don’t fall asleep on me.”

“ _ I _ ,” Manjoume began with the subtlety of a fire alarm, “am not falling asleep. Also, the ‘on me’ part would be irrelevant if you just let  _ go  _ already.”

“Hmmm… Nah, not happening,” Judai decided, and they continued in that shambling way down the hallway, Johan the one with the keycards, three tucked into a neat envelope with ‘503’ scrawled on the front. The receptionist had almost been drowned out by the steady ring of the phone behind her, and Johan had tried to make the process as easy as he could, aware of the line that had formed behind him. As he walked alongside Judai, Ruby was tucked into his long-sleeved shirt, the physics of that a total mystery, and she somehow stopped herself from slipping down again, light snores against his collarbone. Traveling was hard on them all, the beasts like jeweled insets that fit the angles and corners of his home the best, at their safest and brightest inside his deck, but they had ventured out for his sake, slotting into this strange, turning world full of strangers and the tangles of a city.

It was so kind. Wonderfully kind.

“Can’t believe I agreed to any of this,” Manjoume muttered sharply, which only made Judai shake him again, Johan still under the other arm and trying to keep the laughs back but, nah, impossible. Totally impossible. “Oh, and  _ you’re  _ the worst one, Johan, because you encourage him. It’s your fault.”

“Don’t drag me into this,” Johan said, and Judai grinned at him, his eyes bright and flecked with gold. “I’ve heard fights between rivals can be, ahh…. How do I say this politely…?”

“Well, we’re not going to fight. Right, Thunder?” Judai added next, and, ah, there was the room number, on a plain red door. The floor seemed quiet enough, a major plus from Johan’s perspective. “Although, you haven’t visited me in ages, so maybe-”

“W-What?! No,  _ wrong _ .  _ You  _ haven’t visited  _ me  _ in ages. I’m the one with the fixed address and, you know, a working  _ phone _ .”

"W-Wait, wait a second. I-"

"Aaaaand there's the fight," Johan drawled after he had shaken off Judai's arm, a necessary part of flipping the envelope open, taking out one keycard, and waiting for the low buzz as the door unlocked. 

At first glance, it was clean and small, as to be expected. Tucked in the far corner was the bathroom door, and inside was a cupboard of a shower, plus the other necessities. Although, for a cheap room, the view was pretty good, more than just the side of a neighbouring building or parking garage. Rather, below was Domino City, the intersections of its downtown core veined with red and white lights, the flow of traffic steady, brilliant under the neon blue of the rising towers. And Johan only noticed the problem after he had dropped his bag to the floor and turned around. 

Manjoume looked stunned, like he had just walked into a glass door, only that expression just  _ stayed  _ there as time continued on, his already-pale complexion at a bone white. 

"Uh… Thunder?"

"The universe is fucking with the wrong person," was the strained reply he got, Manjoume's stare unmoving from where it was fixed on the bed, a red comforter spread over the-

Oh.

Bed.

_ The  _ bed.

And Judai let out a whistle. "Hope you guys don't mind getting a little physical."

"Drop dead, Slifer."

"Ah, I'm not going to sleep with you unless you're a little nicer to me, Thunder~"

That lit the fuse on the next argument, a red-faced Manjoume trying to strangle Judai, the quicker of the two. And Johan watched them at first, blinking owlishly, and then he stared at the bed again. The bed, singular. 

Huh. 

Okay.

"Sounds fun, especially if I get a close-up of Manjoume's pajamas," Johan said, and then a pillow was flying towards his face. 

\---


	2. Second Card

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently Judai's birthday is August 31st, so happy (slightly early) birthday!
> 
> Consequently, this chapter was supposed to be...three times longer, ha haaaaaaa.... I swear we're going somewhere.

\---

After Manjoume had abruptly announced that he was taking the first shower and then slammed the door with dramatic force, Johan was left sitting on the edge of the (surprisingly comfortable) bed and blinking up at Judai, who was kicking off his boots and going for his jacket next. 

"I...hope Manjoume's alright with this," Johan said, and Judai tilted his head to the side. 

“Don't worry about it. An arrangement like this can't be more complicated than time travel."

"Judai…"

"Plus, that guy has contacts in any big city, so if he really wanted out, he'd be out."

"Hmm… Well, he's also the one splitting the cost of this room with me, so maybe you have another reason for saying that…"

"You caught me."

Johan rolled his eyes, and he started on his own shoes, white sneakers that he had made a point of cleaning before the flight. Then again, Judai usually dressed like an extra in a post-apocalypse movie, Manjoume like the over-ambitious villain, and that meant he -- in new athletic pants that tightened below the knees and a long-sleeved lilac shirt -- was the odd one out. 

"Do you know that they sometimes distress costumes for movies with cement mixers? 

"I'm guessing they take the cement out first."

"Well,  _ yeah _ ," Johan replied, making Judai chuckle as he removed his deck holster, brown with splitting corners. "Apparently it helps age the clothes, so they don't look brand new and clash with, say, a historical setting."

The belt was next, one that Judai had bought off a street vendor in Sofia. Johan had been there, rocking back on his heels and trying to decide on somewhere to get lunch, even if it meant taking a later train. The jeans had been Johan's at some point, and now they were on the floor, Judai suddenly falling face-first onto the bed and throwing his arms out. 

"You should really shower first."

"So, what you're saying is that I smell?" was the muffled reply, and Johan shoved him over, revealing Judai's too-wide grin. "I smell and my clothes are beat-up. Johan, you can be sooooo mean…"

A laugh, and then Johan leaned over and kissed him, Judai grinning into the contact, and they could have been anywhere -- a forest teeming with quick-winged fireflies and pulsing under the moonlight that spilled down from a thick, navy sky. Or within the frayed walls of a torn-up tent, tangled together to stop the cold from sinking in further as the rain outside poured, unseen. Or in Johan's small kitchen, Judai playing with the hem of his shirt and making his breath hitch. Or in a cramped hotel room, water beating against cheap tiles and unfamiliar sheets passing under his palms, stark white and framing Judai. They kissed again, softer.

Judai's lips were always chapped, a universal constant like the half-moon shapes of his bitten-down nails or the trace of Yubel's ash-like scent.

They parted, noses brushing and remaining close. Johan smiled, and he breathed in slowly, captivated by the subtle roll of Judai's chest under his own, by the angles of his face. He knew when Judai wanted another kiss, and he leaned into it, a hum against his lips and one of Judai's calloused hands flitting over the back of his neck, light as if the touch was accidental. Which it wasn't.

"And  _ that _ ," Judai announced with a mischievous smirk when Johan moved back, "is proof why I don't need a shower."

Chuckling, Johan sat up. The bed creaked, and he shot another look at Judai, still sprawled in the middle of the bed with his rumpled grey t-shirt and Kuriboh boxers. 

"Judai, you can't say all that based on a kiss."

"Three kisses, technically."

Before Johan could reply, the bathroom door banged open, and Manjoume's outfit was just as confusing and glorious and, well,  _ amazing  _ as he had expected to be. He had also expected Manjoume's reaction, as the fuming, somewhat-damp professional duelist had started yelling at them, Judai clutching his ribcage while Johan slapped a hand over his mouth and stared. 

The giggles would not stop, not even when Manjoume repurposed Judai's jacket as a projectile. Next was a shoe.

"O-Okay, okay. I got it. I'm...good. Totally under control. One-hundred percent. One-thousand perce-"

"Are you  _ mocking  _ me?" Manjoume shot back, and Judai waved his hands before he continued. It was very telling that his eyes were locked on the ceiling, probably because the ceiling was not wearing an oversized mustard t-shirt with Ojama Yellow's toothy face in the middle and a pair of black boxers decorated with miniature dragons and lines of bold red text reading 'ARMED AND DANGEROUS.' Altogether, it was a stunning combination, the resulting fusion a true knock-out. 

"N-No way," Judai choked out. "Why would I...mock someone who is clearly armed and d-d-anger- Ah! G-Get off-!"

"Suffer," Manjoume ordered through gritted teeth, and Johan gave his boyfriend a sympathetic look, since his rival was currently trying to put him in a headlock. It wasn't working, and Johan winced when Manjoume banged an elbow against the wall, yelped, and then made a second dive for Judai, who was now clutching even harder at his ribcage. 

"S-Stop it. You g-got me."

"Why are you giving up?! What kind of rival are you?!"

"It...seems I can't even surrender correctly," was Judai's next observation, and the dull thud was from the other side of the opposing wall. Another wince, and Johan kept his voice low.

"Seems like the next shower is mine. So, uh, try not to...do whatever you two were just doing."

“What, are you  _ escaping _ ?” Manjoume snapped, the volume at morning-phone-alarm rather than car-backfiring, and his spikes of hair sagged a little, making his resemblance to a rained-on, bad-tempered house cat all the stronger. “Sure, run away, Crystal Boy. Just spare me the unnecessary nuisance of your singing, if you would be so  _ kind _ .”

“That was one time,” Johan chided as he rummaged through his bag, and he unclipped his deck box next, placing it by Judai’s on the narrow bedside table. Flickering, the spirits settled in, a myriad of rainbow tones and shapes, and Ruby formed herself, hopped onto the bed, and then curled into a ball on the far left pillow. Like a staked flag, her resting place had a clear meaning, and Manjoume, who made a point of being difficult, snorted.

“Hmmm… Thunder, I take it that you want to be in the middle of this three-card deck?” Judai asked slyly, and when Johan closed the bathroom room, they were at it again, the muffled insults carrying through. But, to be fair, the volume  _ had  _ been cut, and Johan -- feeling a bit like the only adult in a room full of ball-throwing, pencil-chewing kids with a penchant for getting stickers and glitter absolutely everywhere -- shook his head and laughed. 

Yep. Coming to this tournament had been a great idea, right down the single hotel room. And, invigorated, Johan stretched his arms out. Well, tried to. He hit both walls.

Just like home, right down to how whoever had installed the fixtures must’ve challenged themselves to do it as compact as humanly possible. Like a prototype for a spaceship or something.

Predictably, his reflection was a little tired. Lucky for him there was a bed on the other side of that door.

Bed, singular.

As he turned the water on, Johan found his thoughts drifting back to that fact. Sure, he could be a, quote, ‘scatterbrain’ or ‘airhead,’ the latter Manjoume’s favorite word for it, but he knew better than to mess up a reservation like that. He’d triple-checked the details in advance, which meant that the error was the hotel's fault.

Drumming his fingers on the plain tile, he decided that this was a twist of fate, a little knot. Yes, perfection could be interesting, but sometimes imperfections had the greater appeal, like the way a wooden fence would warp and crack over time, sagging between its posts and layered with vibrant green. Or how his bike had collected its own delicate scratches, x-shapes, that made the dull, teal colour deeper, more complex. 

Strange things caught his eye. Knots made him want to pull on them -- just to test them, just to see what would happen. Curiosity could make him impulsive.

Turning the water off, Johan ran both hands through his wayward hair, the beats of that addictive song making their way to the chorus. For their neighbours’ sake, he only mumbled the words, and he went for a towel next, aware of how  _ easy  _ it was to get water over every millimeter of a space like this. Consideration was important with roommates, both human and otherwise.

Although-

“Oh.”

Out of habit, he had taken his sleeping shorts and, well, nothing else. 

Sighing, Johan ran that hand through his hair again, shoving his bangs back. Hopefully Manjoume would take it easy with the snide comments.

Probably not.

“-you’re seriously not going to tell me?” Johan heard through the door.

“No? It’s a tournament. Find out for yourself, if you  _ dare _ .”

“Ah, but you are playing Ojamas, riiight?”

“...Do you expect my answer to change if you keep asking me?”

“...Yes?”

“ _ Why _ ?”

“It...works sometimes?”

“Y-You are such a…”

“Such a what?”

When Johan opened the door and walked out, he realized he had focused on the wrong person, because Judai, all devilish grin and too-clear eyes, let out a wolf whistle, and Johan, rolling his eyes, just kept walking, going for the side of the bed that Ruby had claimed. Although, well,  _ maybe  _ he ducked his head a bit when Judai started up with the compliments next.

“It’s official. I have to start working out because… Damn it, Johan. How am I supposed to keep up with you?”

“Alright, alright… That’s enough,” Johan said, the mattress dipping under his added weight, and Judai, being Judai, pouted at him. When a beat passed with no results, Judai progressed to leaning on his shoulder and whining, which was way, way too endearing.

Because everything Judai did was endearing, even if it involved poking his chest and then grabbing at his arm.

“Yeah, I’ve definitely been slacking off… I mean, I’ve got Yubel, but you’re...probably stronger than me.”

“If it makes you feel better, I can’t shoot fireballs or fly yet, so you’re still winning there,” Johan replied, and Judai’s fingers were on his bicep, tracing the swirling black of the outline there. At the center was Rainbow Dragon, small as if it was flying overhead, far over some landscape below, and around it was an empty space, where the colours of its sky would be filled in. In the same black was the border, circular and made of scattered, narrow clouds and two feathers that had fallen loose, the details in thin, delicate lines. Judai knew about that one, experimental designs traded over messenger, and he knew that Johan, still hesitating on the colours, had wanted to get the other stencil done, two feathers that intersected at the middle and were angled as if they had fallen further.

They were on the side of his ribcage, and Judai touched them next, the pressure barely enough to register. It followed the widest curve, and then it lifted, Judai falling back to the bed with his arms behind his head. 

“Hey, Thunder. Johan’s image is too good. We should team up and take him out, don’t you think?”

“W-Whatever,” was the answer, and when Judai’s eyebrows shot up, Manjoume quickly continued. One of his hands was curled by his mouth, and Johan noticed that, okay, he was blushing -- just a faint, thin colour on the high points of his face. Carrying a wet sheen, his bangs obscured most of his expression. “Look, don’t involve  _ me  _ in  _ your  _ stupid schemes. I already have enough to deal with on my on, in case you’ve forgotten that.”

"Ah, don't be so harsh. I need your support," Judai said, teasing, and Manjoume shot him a withering glare, and when it extended over to Johan, it became weaker, almost shy. Immediately after, he was making a show of grumbling to himself and batting at one of their two pillows. Because Judai had been using part of said pillow, there was a minor conflict.

The comforter was stiff and thin, but attending North Academy had given Johan a good reference point for situations like this -- namely, the blanket also wasn’t covered with ice shards or dotted with rat-made holes, which meant it was pretty good overall, like an eight out of ten. As always, Ruby, bleary-eyed and yawning, reacted to his movements, and when he had settled in, she made the sleepy journey from the pillow to his chest and plunked down over his heart. A few soft, murmur-like breaths, and then she had faded again, the red of her jewels spreading out and softening, dispersing. Her echo was below his skin, pulsing an unseen light inside his chest.

Goodnight.

“Goodnight, Ruby,” he answered, and when he, blinking, looked up, two stares were on him. Apparently the third (fourth?) round of Judai v Thunder had ended, and Johan hesitated, because he should speak, right? But the words didn’t form, like sand passing through his parted fingers.

It was as if something had slipped out of place, only he wasn’t sure what it was, 

Steel-grey, Manjoume’s eyes had been different just seconds ago -- the focus different, the intensity different. Something elusive and strange, like a shape obscured by mist, the contours unknown to him, the observer, the person who-

“-or would you really complain about  _ that _ ?”

“Stop acting so arrogant. You haven’t earned it.”

“...Me? Arrogant?”

“Yes.”

And then Judai changed tactics, his hand finding Johan’s under the covers and squeezing it, their fingers threading together. “Hmm. That reserved tone means you’ve calmed down, Thunder. You know, all things considered, it’s good for you that Johan here isn’t in the Pro League. He’d be tough competition, in more ways than one.”

“Judai…”

Another squeeze, Judai’s gaze like sparking flint, but Manjoume was the one to reply first, his thin arms crossed over the incredible yellow-on-yellow shirt. “Oh, please. As if the master of crystals could take attention away from  _ me _ . With this tournament, I’ll show you how foolish an idea like that is.”

“Hmmm…” And then Judai changed targets, his grin pleased. “Well, Johan, I think you can upstage Thunder, especially if you make some, ah, targeted changes to your dueling outfit. Long sleeves are overrated, aren’t they?”

“Okay, okay. You’ve made your point,” Johan stated, and when he gave Judai a playful shove, he ended up with a boneless, pouting hero-duelist on his shoulder again. “Sorry, Manjoume. Judai is… Ah. He’s very…”

“I get it,” Manjoume answered, and he tossed his head back, sinking against the mattress. “But all your little ‘show’ means is that the next time I have to move my furniture, you’re coming over, and I won’t take any excuses. After all, my hands are those of a respected duelist, and I shouldn’t have to risk them on such a stupid task.”

Like with most things Manjoume said, there were layers of meaning, like sanding down through dried paint and finding buried colours, different colours. Some chips were stubborn, refusing to break apart, and others were removed easily, revealing a new shade, a new texture. 

“Sure, but I might be too expensive for you, Thunder. I’d probably need a plane ticket, for one thing.”

A rare smile passed over Manjoume’s angular profile. “We’ll work something out. But, more importantly, it’s _late_, and if my performance tomorrow suffers because of you two airheads, I’ll ensure that both of you pay for it. Understand?”

“Loud and clear,” Judai replied, with emphasis on ‘loud’.

Another conflict broke out, and it ended when there was another thud against the wall.

\---

But Johan was the one awake in the end, faint murmurs from the thriving city seeping through the walls, and Ruby was a steady beat in his chest, a constant rhythm. On his back, he had Judai in his arms, their legs a hopeless tangle, and if the sleep-talking was any evidence, then Manjoume -- the pile of pointy hair and crumpled yellow fabric at the opposite side of the bed -- was also completely out of it. The mumbled words were audible, but they made no sense, fading into and meshing with the background.

Judai was more subtle, his lips moving around sentences left unspoken, and his fingers would clench and twist with his dreams. If they deepened into nightmares, Johan would know, and, at that thought, he tightened his hold a little, Judai’s head tucked until his chin. Ethereal constellations in new colours could’ve been turning outside, awe-inspiring and grand, and yet Johan would’ve stayed where he was, waiting for the moment when Judai’s breaths would finally synch up with the beat-beat-beat inside his chest. The rustle of a sheet was like the roll of a distant wave. 

Judai’s scent was intoxicating, close and growing stronger with every long, deep breath, and maybe that was what finally got to him.

He was still there when Johan woke up, thin rays of light streaming through the gap in the grey curtains and catching the mess of their blankets, catching on the dark strands of Judai’s hair against the white sheets. And Johan was hopelessly sentimental, because he did not move at all. He took in the precious, small details over and over again. In his sleep, Judai looked calm, so delicate that it hurt, and Johan, not for the first time, fell for him completely, his heart taken in. 

It was another universal constant -- Johan Andersen was in love with Yuki Judai, always. An unbreakable chain kept him there, and he had never resisted it. He liked it. It had fused with him.

More of this reality poured in, sensation by sensation. Like the fact that his arm, under the pillow, had that pins-and-needles feeling dancing inside it. Or that Manjoume had left already, and he was probably responsible for the notification light pulsing on Johan’s phone. The display read 6:23.

Johan’s body told him to get up, as if his left-side neighbour would already be out with her dog and he, curving off the narrow street on his bike, would be tasked with opening the rustic center, absently sweeping the leaves away and nodding at the mother bird in the courtyard tree. Animals, after all, were more perceptive of spirits than humans were, and that lady’s chirps indicated that she knew something, her glassy eyes flashing.

She had left him a twig on his windowsill once, which clearly had a meaning. He assumed it was a good one.

But when Johan stood up, slow and careful, he caught himself staring again, suspended in the moment and bound by it. That truth was the only ripple, the embedded flaw, and, sighing, Johan raised himself to his full height, his spirits rising in unison, filling the gaps in the room and, faintly, gently, singing out. 

Right.

The tournament.

The forty-eight hand-selected duelists of the Choice Stars Final would first be broken up in twelve groups of four, duel their other group members, and then be ranked based on their group win-loss ratios and some rather arcane criteria. The top twelve would immediately advance to the next round, and the bottom twelve would be cut. That remaining chunk, twenty-four in total, would duel it out for the four open positions, forming together with the twelve to make the sixteen contestants for the  _ next  _ stage, the start of the real ascent. 

The round of sixteen had a standard format -- first seed against sixteenth seed, ninth seed against eighth seed, and so on. Each round would be sudden death. Only one duelist would claim victory.

Victory, precious but perilous. Like a lure in the water, and the unseen hook would pierce his palm if he grabbed at it carelessly. 

Naturally, the most unorthodox part of the tournament was its approach to the media. The group stage would take place entirely in studios, the environment controlled. During the gap between the stages, the edited footage would air and, ideally, bring enough hype to validate the already-sold-out second stage. While Johan wouldn’t regret attending the tournament, even  _ if  _ he was knocked out early and had to clamp down on the, ah, _ frustration _ of that, the idea of all that media attention focusing on him was a little-

A little too much, like the liquid inside a can freezing and then bursting through the packaging. 

“Easy there,” Johan muttered, and he zipped up his bag next, his tournament-ready outfit on. When Ruby warbled, he gave her an easy smile, and she bounced up his arm, her tail swinging. “Oh? Someone’s hungry. Finding our usual stuff might be tough....”

Meep.

“Hey, hey… I think the tournament's going to be  _ enough  _ of an adventure,” he said. Glancing back, Judai was still knocked out, his sprawl complete and including the entire blanket, the rolled-up sheet, and both pillows. Impressive. 

Meep!

“Ah, my hair’s not  _ that  _ crazy, but… You’re the boss,” he decided with a shrug, and he obediently trudged back into the bathroom, comb in hand. “Just don’t blame me if it does nothing.”

It accomplished nothing. Well, nothing except making Ruby break out into Ruby-sized giggles where the comb got stuck and then stayed there, sticking out at an odd angle. 

Hoping to land a decent first impression, he had kept it simple: tan ankle boots, dark jeans with a matching belt, and a white-on-lilac dress shirt, minus the tie that the sales associate had suggested. Although, all the effort made it seem like more of a job interview than a tournament, and, deciding that he was as ready as he’d ever be, Johan started on the next item on his morning checklist: wake up Yuki Judai.

An easy check, considering that Judai was already awake and had quickly pushed him onto the bed, Johan’s knees hooked over the end and Judai’s forehead bumping his own. Next was the morning kiss, which had also been on the list.

Very efficient, and -- running his fingers up the column of Judai’s neck, tasting him until his breathing hitched and the angle deepened -- Johan approved. The kiss deepened even further than that, and when Johan started to move away, Judai was on him again, teeth brushing his bottom lip and pulling, just enough to be felt. That contact turned rough, and it was like someone had turned a dial inside his head, the  _ want  _ stronger and stronger. Judai sucked on his tongue, and those four months between them had threaded together, making the feeling even heavier, sweeter. Short-nailed hands clawed at his back, catching on the thin fabric, and Johan met every kiss. He melted into them. That dial turned again, and Judai was hot under him, surging up and taking his mouth with a jagged grin, and-

An alarm went off.

“Better go be responsible,” Judai chided, and Johan sighed and went for it. 

“Good morning to you too.”

“Don’t act like the morning’s over,” was Judai’s response, and Johan knew that tone -- low and taunting, a flicker of Yubel cutting through. Before he could put his cell down, two wiry arms were around his chest, warm breath was on the back of his neck, and Judai, just like him, had an unavoidable tournament meeting coming up, fast. 

“Judai.”

“Hmm?”

“I’m not kissing you unless you get up.”

“Ah, a dagger through my heart,” Judai said, something twisting and raspy under the humor, and then he flopped back. The pout was in full force. “These official tournaments are too strict. Like, how does Thunder put up with these deadlines all the time?”

“Thunder,” Johan began with a pointed tap to an ankle, “is another reason why you have to get up before I’ll kiss you again.”

“Hmm… Am I testing your restraint?”

“Come on… I shouldn’t have to answer that.”

Judai laughed. His shirt collar has been pushed to one side, showing the hollow of his collarbone, and with visible reluctance, he half-fell, half-rolled off the bed. A peck on Johan’s cheek, and then Judai was crossing the room, waving one hand as he continued. 

“Not to put any ideas in your head, but I’m sure a city like this has rooms that rent by the hour.”

Yep. Johan was blushing. He always did when Judai -- now lifting his slept-in shirt over his head and revealing the wonderful, shifting shapes of his bare back -- talked like _that_, and he breathed out slowly, aware of his too-fast heart. 

“Y-Yeah, but the last time we tried that, the room was… How do I say this…?”

“Hey, I’m not saying we get another  _ themed  _ room,” Judai clarified, and the new shirt was a plain grey turtleneck, the little collection of tears on one sleeve probably having its own story. “Still, not like the bad decor was much of a problem. Turning the lights out solved that, right?”

Johan Andersen had the start of a high-stakes tournament less than forty minutes away, and the person across from him, closing his belt with familiar, clever fingers, was making it pretty difficult to remember that. Forty-eight contestants. Major challenges. Exciting prospects, and he stood in place and watched Judai put on his jacket, shoulders rolling with the motion. Their eyes met.

No. Not happening.

“By the way, nice shirt.”

Johan sighed. “Let me guess. It would look better on the floor, correct? ”

A chuckle. Judai’s deck holster clicked into place. 

\---

And they found the floating Ojamas before they found Manjoume, who was sulking at a side-table in the nearest fast food chain and working on his second cup of coffee, his phone by his ear. If his social media was anything to go by, Manjoume seemed to fuel himself solely with coffee, coffee-adjacent drinks, and, more rarely, things that came wrapped in plastic, and so Johan doubled his own order -- a standard three-dish set with miso soup and an egg -- and shoved the extra set across the table. Manjoume saved him reaction until after he had ended the call, Judai already done with his own portion and not-so-subtly angling for Johan’s mackerel, Winged Kuriboh giving him a judgemental ‘hoot’ while Ruby just watched, tail swaying.

“Last time I checked,” Manjoume began, a thin, jet-black eyebrow in a steep arch, “I’m not ten, and I’m also not under the care of  _ you _ , Johan Andersen.”

“The Ojamas were worried,” he replied, and the nearest one, Ojama Yellow, twirled in place, which only made Manjoume glare harder. With zero stealth, Judai was in the process of switching an empty dish with Johan’s full one. 

“For your own sanity, you shouldn’t listen to them. Ever.”

“Ah, but you shouldn’t skip meals, so…”

A slight twitch. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I was  _ busy _ . I would’ve gotten around to it, so don’t make such false assumptions, as if  _ I  _ was the careless person here.”

“All things considered, the least you can do is thank Johan. Not everyone in here gets service like that,” was Judai’s comment, half-mumbled through the remainder of Johan’s mackerel. Manjoume replied by kicking at him under the table, and when the first strike missed, he scowled and started on the nearest dish instead. The phone stayed down.

“It’s alright. I pushed a boundary, and I’m sorry about that,” Johan said, and Manjoume snorted.

“Whatever. Just remind me to add that five-hundred-something yen to my total.”

“Why?”

“...Because I want you to?”

“Uh. Okay, but I really don’t mind at all.”

“I don’t like owing money to people,” Manjoume stated. “What time is your pick-up scheduled for?”

“I have another fifteen minutes,” Johan replied. “Judai’s is after ours.”

“Hm. Seems dangerous, considering the intellect of the person in question,” Manjoume said, sneering at Judai. “Try not to get lost, slacker. I plan on knocking you out of this tournament myself.”

In scattered shapes, Judai’s shaggy hair framed his face. He stopped eating. “I’ll try not to disappoint you,” was the sarcastic reply, part of this game of rivals. And then his eyes were focused again, the gathered strength undeniable and bared, and the sight of it stilled them both, the observers who waited for him to continue. “Your brothers aren’t bothering you about that, are they?”

Brothers? ‘That’?

But Manjoume must have understood, because he cringed and drew back, shrinking into the many folds of his long coat. Around them, voices competed with each other, plates clicking against one another. Something was being fried, oil crackling, and the low hum was Ruby, curious and drawn-out. 

“That’s not the right dynamic,” Manjoume finally said. Next, he addressed Johan, straightforward. The tension had dropped. “I’m in the process of paying my brothers back for my education, and, no, they aren’t ‘bothering’ me about it. I just want to get the whole mess over with. It’s a distraction, and someone in my position already has enough of those.”

“Oh. I...didn’t know you were, ah, dealing with that situation.”

“Don’t sound so apologetic,” Manjoume ordered, and he almost laughed, shaking his head. “The real question is how and  _ why  _ Yuki Judai knows about it.”

“Let’s just say that I have my ways,” Judai drawled, and there must’ve been another attempted kick, everything on the table jumping and then clattering down. The subject of the next argument was, predictably, Duel Monsters, the Ojamas bristling and swirling around like agitated wasps, and Johan stayed quiet, his chin on his palm. He was far away, blinking back the after-images of stars, of shrouded things. Fantastic constellations could have fallen, and he would have missed the brilliance as they shattered. 

By now, Johan had figured out that even the most familiar parts of life could still surprise him -- like how that weirdly shaped plant he always biked by on his way to work, half-hidden between two overgrown bushes, had actually turned out to be a crumpled-up car door covered with a thick layer of moss and one very ambitious vine. Or how a second-grader who had, at every available opportunity, claimed to love pink had suddenly, inexplicably, demanded only the purple markers for her table. And, even though he could feel them winding through the air, their emotions adding coloured threads to his, the Crystal Beasts would have insights that he never could have predicted, each precious in its own way. 

When Manjoume had spoken about that debt, the conviction had been clear in his voice. Another facet of him had been revealed, different than those that made up the flashy, self-confident duelist who sneered his way through televised duels and drew those vast crowds in with his chant. And, of course, it was also different to how Manjoume acted when he shot off ten-to-fifty text messages in quick succession about a new release and then argued over every single character Johan sent back, or when he would randomly send a command like  _ ‘go to bed idiot.’  _ and then follow it up with  _ ‘also dont blame me if ur tired tomorrow’.  _

Once, after squinting at a window display of a low-rank Pro League match, Judai had turned to Johan and said,  _ “Thunder’s not the type to do anything the simple way. I don’t think his opponent here has caught on to that yet.”  _ The observation had been completely accurate, as always. That somewhat-pixelated duel had ended with a flurry of A-to-Z cards and the resounding ‘boom’ of said opponent’s frontline being decimated, inciting a burst of cheers from the audience. 

Inside the restaurant, the other tables were blurred, as if they were under a translucent film, and the resonance of the Crystal Beasts shifted, letting the details sharpened. More noises trailed in, the volume climbing whenever the doors slid open. Even though it was early, the city was already wide awake, the office towers lit up and reaching for the unbroken blue of the sky, and-

“Johaaaaan, back me up.”

“Stop whining. What kind of duelist are you?!”

“A legendary one, so-”

“ _ You _ ? ‘Legendary’?”

“Uh, yeah? Haven’t you noticed?”

“I think I’ll stay out of this one, if you two don’t mind,” was the answer Johan decided on, and then they were both staring at him, Judai’s expectant look contrasted with Manjoume’s signature glare.

How scary.

\---

The filming location of the group stage was top secret, a feature insisted on by Pegasus himself. Naturally, the suspense for the aired duels and their path to the top sixteen would be ruined if the public knew the results beforehand, and even the contestants were part of this big secret, although Johan had sort of,  _ kind  _ of, messed up already by showing the airport security officer his papers. And telling his boss. 

Whoops.

“We should be more vigilant,” Sapphire Pegasus mumbled after Amethyst Cat had hissed out a summary of the most recent mistake, and Johan, tucked into one backseat of a very imposing all-black luxury sedan with tinted windows and an eerily quiet driver, shook his head. His family filled the empty spaces, adding new colours to it.

“In my defense, dodging the topic could’ve put me in some trouble, so…”

“True, but Pegasus has a reason for his actions,” Cobalt Eagle concluded, a tremor of agreement shooting through the group, and, okay, Johan was losing this argument. A total defeat. “It’s...possible that we’ll meet him soon.”

“It’s likely,” he said, and outside, they passed another set of close-formed buildings, the sprawl of the city continuing on and on. “I mean, if he’s picked all of us, then he’s curious about the results of our battles, right?”

A thoughtful hum from Ruby, curled up in his lap, and then she gave a loud squeak. What if he had to fight Judai? 

Ah. Judai. 

“I’d give it everything I had. I mean, a victory against him, I’ve wanted that for… Well, I don’t have to explain it, do I?”

No, he didn’t. His heartbeat mixed in with their chimes, with the pulses of their harmonic souls. 

What about that loudmouth with the Ojamas?

“You should try calling him that and see what happens,” Johan suggested with a slight tap on her forehead, the contact subtle -- the faintest red light brushed his index finger, followed by the brush of her fine fur. “I gotta admit, I’m curious. We haven’t dueled before, and it could be…”

Entertaining?

“Yeah,  _ that _ ,” Johan said with a sudden laugh, his free hand over his face, and he rounded Ruby’s ears, sparks trailing up his nails.

Building by building, the maze of the studio unfolded in front of him, the car stopped at the perimeter and was then directed through the gate that divided up the chainlink fence. Next, the driver explained that he would stop at building C-something, and Johan, eager to seem professional, nodded as if he understood what that meant. 

The situation with the cars was confusing enough, but, then again, he wouldn’t call himself a security expert or a media expert or, well, an expert in anything that involved shuttling different duelists in different ways across the city. Manjoume had been first, disappearing into a sleek grey sedan. The Ojamas had taken longer to settle in, half of Ojama Yellow phasing through the window until, shrieking, he had also vanished, some translucent confetti shaken loose and hitting the sidewalk. 

When Johan stepped out of the car and dipped his head at the driver, the gravity of all  _ this _ \-- the spreading, marvelous force that had so effortlessly gripped him and made him dream -- was stronger than before. He was caught in its pull, and it took him through the nondescript doors. An attendant led him to a large, open room.

Grand.

The word for it was grand.

In total, it had to be at least three stories, golden columns at the four corners and sloping to meet with the painted ceiling, a dripping chandelier in the center to punctuate the surrounding opulence, the walls softened in places by bold, rich velvet and hardened by sections of exposed stone. Even as he walked towards the center, the impact did not change, Johan blinking fast and tilting his head back while the beasts cooed and yelped. At the far end was a raised dais, empty except for a microphone, and the tile below was in concentric circles, red following gold. Delicate sculptures in white and pale grey rose tall, curving like flowers with petals made heavy by the rain, and dimly, distantly, there was the sound of running water. Every surface shimmered and gleamed.

It could’ve doubled for the ballroom in a fantasy movie, or the background for a commercial selling a product that Johan  _ probably  _ couldn’t afford -- like perfume that came in a slender bottle with a subtle colour gradient. The cameras were already there, so inconspicuous that he only noticed because of Cobalt Eagle, the scout of the group, and the red lights moved as the rigs did.

A weird feeling, like flakes of ice drifting over his spine, and Johan blinked quickly, letting those details blur. In flight, the Crystal Beasts encircled the other duelists, curious mews and clicks following them. Minus Emerald Tortoise, of course. The shy member of their family stayed in the deck, a faint beat-beat-beat of energy that Johan could only describe as 'close'. 

A consequence of his not-so-good sense of direction, Johan Andersen was  _ rarely  _ on-time to tournaments, and being early was even stranger. Standing around and talking to other contestants was usually saved for the later rounds, which meant that, yeah, there were easy openers like ‘ _ Did you see that play from [this person]’s match?’  _ or  _ ‘So, whatcha think about the challenger from [this place]?’ _

“Guess I need a new strategy,” he mumbled to himself, smiling a little, and Ruby, bouncing up to her usual spot, meowed at him. Right. Be confident.

Neither of his roommates (and Johan tried not to laugh at that thought) had arrived yet, and neither had Edo Phoenix, another guarantee at any Pegasus-hosted tournament. Many of the surrounding duelists were standing by themselves, most in formal wear and some in masks. At least ten were high-ranking members of the Pro League. One guy was shirtless, wearing sandals, and holding a spear.

Johan decided on Spear Guy. 

\---


End file.
